


Pantomime

by SkartoArgento



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 3
Genre: Humiliation, M/M, Mental Anguish, Ownership, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 07:39:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7706116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkartoArgento/pseuds/SkartoArgento
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keith's memories can't save him from Buck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pantomime

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I wrote this three years ago and have only just remembered about it. Largely unedited from when I first wrote it.

He made fantasies. Hours and hours of sitting at his desk, his fingers flicking through reports, accounts, his hand on a computer mouse, sneaking in a quick game of minesweeper before lunch. Cynthia popped her head around the door, asked if he wanted to come down to the sushi bar across the street. He winked at her, said he’d be right there.

In the real world he rocked himself, his arms around his knees.

His fantasies turned darker. Buck came down the stairs and Keith stabbed him, shot him, set him on fire, killed him a million times in a million different ways. At the last moment, before the light went out in Buck’s eyes, Keith whispered to him, told him how much he hated him, how much he enjoyed killing him. How he deserved it.

In the real world, he rocked.

The basement door squeaked, and Keith flinched. A cold kick of fear spread from his stomach, numbed his hands and feet. In his head, he stood up, chin held high. In reality, he stared at the floor.

Footsteps, slow and even down the stairs. Then silence. He felt the weight of Buck’s gaze.  

He closed his eyes. Waited.

“Your friend’s got Vaas running in circles. ‘Bout time someone did. Maybe he’ll stop being such a pain in the arse for a few days, eh?”

Keith kept his eyes on the ground. Which friend? Probably Grant. With all his military training, Keith could see him running around the jungle, making some elaborate plan on how to save them all.

Buck’s hand touched Keith’s shoulder. Another flinch.

“What’s wrong? Keith? What is it? You don’t have to worry anymore. I’ll keep you safe and sound, right?”

A pantomime. A play. Buck’s words were from a script.

Buck sat on the bed next to him. He smelled like blood, old wood and earth. His fingers brushed Keith’s hair behind his ears. “Look at me.”

He wanted to. He really did. His eyes wouldn’t let him look up from the floor. Fingers tightened in his hair, stung his scalp. “I said _look at me!_ ”

The lightbulbs above them made Buck’s face glow pink. His eyes gleamed, mouth set in a straight line. Reality wouldn’t let Keith go. It dug itself in with claws, and he couldn’t even begin to pretend that Buck was someone he wanted to have sex with. The hand in his hair released, stroked down the side of his cheek like he was an animal to be calmed, like he was a fucking _pet._

Buck leaned in close, and Keith smelled more blood. And beer. Of course. This must be a day in the life of Buck. Wake up, drink, come down to the basement and fuck the sex slave.

He nearly smiled. What was wrong with him?

Dry lips found his. The hair of Buck’s beard tickled Keith’s skin. He tried to concentrate on his breathing as Buck’s tongue battled into his mouth, but when it licked over his, he made a small noise. Not quite a grunt or a whimper, but definitely something that Buck would have heard. Something that Keith wished had stayed tangled up in his vocal chords. Apparently his body remembered he really fucking liked kissing, even if his mind was repelled by his partner.

Buck sucked his tongue in a kind of slow, lazy way, and Keith almost made the noise again. That scared him even more than the idea of Buck hurting him – Buck thinking he was _enjoying_ it.

“Why do you keep putting your clothes back on?” Buck pulled Keith’s shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor. His hands ran from Keith’s neck to stomach, traced muscles and nipples. Keith glanced down at the floor again, but fingertips under his jaw jerked his head back. “Well? You like wasting my bloody time?”

“I…” He trembled, hands balling into fists before Buck could see them shaking. “They… they’re mine. Sir.”

He knew the second the words were out of his mouth that it wouldn’t be good enough. Buck frowned, even as he slipped off his own shirt. “And you’re mine. Which means these clothes are mine as well. Which means I can do whatever I want with them, right? Maybe I’ll burn them. What do you think?”

No. Fuck, no. He didn’t want Buck to take away the one thing that still made him feel human. He knew pleading wouldn’t work, so he blinked instead, tried to look disinterested. “You’re right. They…” It killed him to say it. “ _I’m_ yours. They’re yours.”

“Nah. No, Keith. Not good enough. You’re not getting off that easily. I want to know.” Buck picked up the shirt again. “What should I do with my clothes? Throw them into the bloody jungle, use them to wipe my arse with – what?”

Keith swallowed. “I- I think you should let me keep them, Sir.”

“And why’s that?”

“I like wearing them.”

Buck snorted. “I like getting off my face with the pretty fellas in Hoyt’s compound. Doesn’t mean I get to do it every day.”

Keith closed his eyes. “Please… just let me keep them, Sir.”

“What do I get in return, hm? You keep the clothes. I think we should even things out a bit. What are you going to do for me, Keith?”

He shivered again. “What do you want?”

“Open your fucking eyes, for one. Look at me.”

It scared him how intense Buck’s gaze was, like some predator fixating on its prey. Buck took his hand. For a second, Keith thought he was going to kiss it, but then Buck put it over the bulge in his own pants. “Start by earning your fucking keep.”

Under the denim of Buck’s pants, heat spread into Keith’s palm. Buck’s cock twitched. Keith bit his lip, pressed down with a tiny amount of pressure. Buck grunted. “Hurry up, Keith. We really haven’t got all bleeding day. I’ve got a bit of hunting to do later.”

Keith pressed harder, let his fingers stroke over the material. Jacking off another guy, nothing to it, right? Wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before.

He remembered that boring house party. That alcohol-filtered view of the garden, Jason’s hand on his arm and his little whisperings of ‘ _oh man, you gotta see this, this is so cool.’_ How Jason had pushed his hips against him in the sun house. How he’d sucked with a kind of desperate enthusiasm at Keith’s neck. How his own hand had found Jason’s cock and worked him until Jason had thrown his head back with a vodka-tinted moan.

The breathless, stupid words in his ear.

Buck sighed, leaned back against the wall. Keith rubbed with the heel of his hand, examined Buck’s belt buckle. A buck. Original. He snapped it open, hesitated. Buck’s hand rubbed the back of his neck. Encouragement, Keith guessed. The button popped, and then his fingers were sliding the zipper down, down, down.

He wasn’t surprised that Buck wasn’t wearing underwear. And then all he could think was that Buck was bigger than Jason.

The cock jerked in his hand, and Keith gave an almost-startled inhale. He tightened his fingers around it,  tried to remember what he liked to do to himself. His thumb stroked under the head, swiped over the slit. Buck made a gentle hum and caressed his way down Keith’s back.

It felt… odd to not be hurt.

He flinched when Buck kissed him again, but the noise – that god damn fucking _noise_ – whined from his throat. His hand didn’t stop moving until Buck grabbed his wrist. When Keith looked up, Buck’s breathing sounded a little faster. “Oh, I think you’ve earned the right to wear your shirt,” he said, and Keith’s cheeks felt hot. The _right_ to wear clothes. Fuck Buck. “Now what could you do for these?” He tugged at Keith’s shorts. “Maybe use those pretty lips on me? Swallow my dick? That would be something, eh?”

Keith shook his head. Buck frowned. “No? Guess you don’t really want them after all…”

He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t –

His arms wound around Buck, and he caught a flash of surprise before he kissed him. Buck paused, then groaned against Keith, his hands holding him tight against his body.

With Jason, Keith had been pinned, wrestled, pushed against a wall, a floor, loved every second of it. With Buck, everything had turned serious. No tapping out, no saying no. No pretend, but his body still felt the same.

Buck broke the kiss, and this time they were both breathing hard. A hand found the front of Keith’s shorts and Buck made a sharp noise of surprise. “You like this.”

Keith swallowed. Anything he said would be half a lie. “Yes.”

At that moment, he hated himself.

Buck wouldn’t let him take his own shorts off, insisted (like Jason, like their games) on being in control. When Keith lay on the mattress, Buck covered him. Bare skin pressed together, along with lips.

A dirty tub of Vaseline appeared in Buck’s hand. “Keep looking at me, Keith,” he said, like he was talking to a panicking person, “just keep looking at me.”

Control.

He didn’t look away when Buck pushed two fingers inside him, even though the urge brought tears to his eyes. No. Not the urge to look away. Something else. Something that kept his cock hard against his stomach, his hands touching the muscles of Buck’s shoulders. Something that made him wrap his legs around Buck’s waist, helped Buck slide inside him.

Pleasure crawled from between his legs. Buck pinned his wrists to the bed, held his gaze as he slammed into Keith, stretched him wide. More noises welled from Keith’s throat, so many ‘ _yes’_ s’ and _‘please’_ s’.

He managed to bite his tongue before he said Jason’s name.

Buck moaned, thrust a little harder. Didn’t take his eyes off Keith’s. Their skin fused, sweat mingling, ridges of muscles brushing ridges of muscles. A hand released his wrist and wrapped around his cock, like Buck needed Keith’s orgasm as much as Keith did.

Buck hissed air through his teeth as he thrust. “Nice,” he said between pants, “nice, and mine. Bought and fucking paid for, oh shit, Hoyt, you wonderful fucker.”

Time lost itself in Buck’s thrusting, in that constant, terrible pleasure inside Keith. Fingertips touched chests, nipples, hands knotted themselves in hair, pulled the other even closer.

Keith buried his face in Buck’s neck, felt the tension coil in his balls. Buck’s hand on his cock was overload. He whispered something, didn’t even know what the fuck he was saying.

“You gonna come?” Buck’s voice rasped in Keith’s ear, thick and husky. Keith should have been repelled, but all that happened was the choked _‘yeah’_ from his lips. Buck growled, thrust harder.

With Jason, it had always been short, high, and sweet.

With Buck, coming bordered on painful.

He couldn’t stop the noises. Those yelping whimpers. The sobs. Heat burst in his lower stomach, so fucking good that he couldn’t breathe. His entire body clenched, against the mattress, around Buck, every muscle locked like a steel bar as he came screaming.

Buck followed him into the abyss with a roar torn from the jungle itself.

-:-

He woke up paralysed.

No, not paralysed. Dead?

Someone was snoring, loud and obnoxious in his ear. He grunted, tried to roll over, but arms had wound around him like cables. Not letting go. Of course not, he had cost too much.

Keith stared up at the ceiling through the darkness. Nausea churned in his stomach. That slim, tiny chance that someone would come and save him meant nothing. No one would want him after this. Damaged goods. He was a fucked up wreck. And Jason –

Jason –

The tears prickled, then burst, ran down into his hairline. Buck grunted in his sleep, tugged Keith even closer. Property. He was protecting his fucking property.

Hollowness ate Keith’s emotions. Bit by bit. Swallowed them. Nothing left. Reality let him go.

Cynthia smiled at him from around the door of his office.

He killed Buck for the millionth time.


End file.
